


Up All Night, Sleep All Day

by sailorstkwrning



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., The Hush Sound, The Like
Genre: AU, Community: no_tags, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorstkwrning/pseuds/sailorstkwrning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A talk-show host AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up All Night, Sleep All Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for no_tags 2011; beta'd by egelantier.

"I think –" Brendon paused, studied the inside of the mini-bar, and took out a tiny bottle of Heineken. "I think I'm ready to get off the road."

Spencer finished his email to the venue coordinator in the next town before he looked up. It was almost the end of a long tour; the purple smudges under Brendon's eyes were a shade deeper than normal, and there was a rare stiffness in his movements as he climbed into bed and under the covers. Brendon blinked at him a couple of times and then pulled a series of spectacular faces. Spencer yawned at him and set his phone down on the nightstand. 

"I mean it this time," Brendon said, shifting his legs under the blanket and stabbing ineffectively at a button on the tv remote. "I'm done with stand-up."

"Does that mean you're taking up decoupage again?" Spencer asked, sitting down and settling back against the enormous stack of fluffy pillows on the bed. "Because there's still that one bar stool you didn't finish from last time, and –"

"That was an artistic decision, Spencer," Brendon said, his lips twitching at the corners, and took a swig of his beer. 

Spencer made a thoughtful noise and tugged the remote out of Brendon's hands. They were both way too tired for this conversation. Brendon drained his beer and curled into Spencer's shoulder. Spencer rubbed Brendon's back with one hand and turned the tv on with the other, then clicked mindlessly through the channels for a while. 

Spencer was waffling between episode of _Full House_ and the last half of _Battlefield Earth_ when Brendon sat up and stole the remote back. Spencer made one vague attempt to grab it away from him before wriggling down and curling up with his head in Brendon's lap. Twenty minutes later, he fell asleep to Brendon petting his hair while someone on tv sang an impassioned song about blue cheese.

_One week later_

"I'm totally serious," Spencer said, pressing the phone to his ear with his right shoulder and opening the door to the green room with his foot and his left elbow. "We have two cities left on this tour and then the Seattle thing with Hoppus and Gabe –"

"And the two booze cruises in San Diego," Pete cut in. "The contracts came back this morning."

"Okay," Spencer said, handing Brendon his coffee. "And then we're done. No stand-up gigs unless it's for charity or there's a Gulfstream involved."

"Uh-huh," Pete said, and Spencer heard him start typing again. "Should I start saving fashion magazines again, or is he going to try macramé this time?"

"He might if it looks good on tv," Spencer said.

Pete stopped typing. Spencer handed the phone to Brendon and snagged a croissant from a nearby tray. He wasn't completely convinced that creating a late-night variety show for public access television was a good idea, but it beat the shit out of being a singing waiter, which had been Brendon's other idea. If all else failed, he'd have Pete look into the audiobook market. 

"Channel 36, baby," Brendon cooed into the receiver, wiggling his eyebrows at Spencer. 

Spencer mock toasted him with his latte and settled down to an extended game of Angry Birds.

_Six months later_

"Grey sweater over plaid shirt?" Brendon called from the stage, putting his arms out and spinning in a slow circle. "Or should I put a suit on?"

"Depends, do you _want_ to look like a cross between Rivers Cuomo and Mr. Rogers?" Spencer asked, and Brendon flipped him off.

"I vote for the sweater," the camera dude chimed in. "It's soothing."

"Thank you, Jon," Brendon said. "Hey, lights – Greta, right? What do you think?"

"Definitely the sweater," Greta said, very seriously. 

Brendon glanced over at him, eyebrows flying upwards; Spencer raised his arms in gracious acceptance of his defeat and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. Brendon pushed his sleeves up and turned back to the camera dude.

"Okay, so, next topic is, the opening credits," Brendon said, bouncing briefly on his toes.

"Whatever you can fit into two and a half minutes is fine, dude," Jon said. "Tom and I can add graphics and shit later."

"Mmm, graphics and shit, those are technical terms, right?" Brendon asked, frowning in mock concentration. 

"They totally are," Jon agreed, equally gravely, and Spencer felt the knot in his stomach unravel a fraction.

Brendon backed up and did a couple of experimental somersaults, followed by some hand-walking around the stage. Spencer propped his feet up on a chair and watched Brendon play. They might still end up on the cruise-ship circuit, but for now he was going to enjoy the view.

_The Next Day_

"Hey, boss," Brendon said, draping his arms around Spencer's shoulder and resting his chin on Spencer's head. "Oh, hey, is that a monkey? Where is –" Brendon paused, probably to squint at the laptop screen. "Are you running away to Costa Rica?"

"Yes, it is a monkey, no, I am not running away to Costa Rica," Spencer said, minimizing the browser window. "Mom and Dad are thinking of going to a resort there."

Brendon made a thoughtful noise into Spencer's hair. "I like monkeys."

"Mmm," Spencer said, and made a mental note to find out if they could have animals in the studio. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Brendon said, far too casually. "You smell good. What shampoo are you using?"

Spencer ducked his head, shuffled around on the surprisingly fancy ergonomic stool he'd found in the control room and tugged Brendon down onto his knee. Brendon curled forward to rest against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer hugged him gently.

"It's going to be fine," Spencer murmured. "Ryan brought his lucky feather that repels pukey toddlers, Gabe's out there with his entire apartment building, and Bill and Sisky are dressed as pirates."

"Pirates?" Brendon repeated, sitting up, his eyes widening with interest.

"Sisky has a banjolele and Bill said they'll storm the stage and hold a sing-along if they have to," Spencer explained. "He said to tell you he was sorry that Carden and Chizzy had to go out on an emergency clown call and the Butcher couldn't get his congas on the bus."

Brendon curled into Spencer's shoulder again, but he was laughing this time. 

"Ten minutes!" someone called from the hallway, and Brendon straightened up.

Spencer kissed him quickly, and then he was gone.

**

"Cue cards?" Spencer said into his headset, resting a hand on the cold glass of the control room window

Below him, hidden in the shadows next to the stage, Brendon pulled them out of his pocket and waved them in the air.

"Tea?"

Brendon held up his mug.

"Douchebag who thinks he's funny?"

Brendon flipped him off. 

"Five, four, three, two, and . . . rolling," Jon called out, and the control room settled into silence.

Spencer sat down on the edge of a nearby table, and watched the audience watch Brendon play the piano on his arm in the opening credits. He could see Bill and Sisky towards the back and Gabe and his neon-clad friends in the very front row, but there were a fair number of civilians, too. Three of them were wearing Wisconsin cheese-wedge hats, which Spencer felt was a nice touch. And all of them cheered enthusiastically when Brendon walked out into the lights.

"Hey everybody," Brendon said. "Thanks for coming out, and welcome to We're Up Way Too Late. I'm Brendon Urie, and our first guest tonight is –" he paused and held the cue card way out in front of him, his eyebrows climbing upwards– "Tennessee Thomas, the Echo Park hula-hoop champion."

A tall girl in a polka-dot dress walked out of the wings with a handful of hula-hoops, and Spencer heard hooting and stamping from somewhere in the middle of the audience. 

Brendon took a hoop and shimmied it over his head while Tennessee picked a few people out of the audience - including Sisky, who was wearing a fake parrot on his shoulder, and one of the people in a cheese hat – and the opening chords of the _Macarena_ filled the room. Bill ran down to lead the crowd in the hand motions, Brendon and Tennessee did a couple of barely-synchronized stompy pelvic thrusts, and the last of Spencer's worries slipped away on a wave of laughter.

_An Hour Later_

"Well, it's half-past a freckle," Brendon said, holding his arm out. "And that means we're almost out of time. But first – does anyone want a story?"

The audience hooted and hollered. Brendon beamed at them, and Spencer smiled back at him largely automatically.

"What kind of story do you want –" Brendon began, tilting his head as if listening to someone near by. "A _good_ story? Well, it just so happens that joining us tonight is my good friend Ryan Ross, who just finished a new book. Do any of you know him?"

The front row erupted in cheers, and the rest of the audience made a low rumbling noise mixed with some hooting. One of the side curtains twitched back, and Ryan walked out, carrying a book and wearing a red velvet smoking jacket, tuxedo pants, plaid slippers, and black Three Musketeers-style hat festooned with an enormous white feather.

"Hi everybody," he called out, squinting into the lights.

"HI RYAN," the audience yelled back.

"Brendon," Ryan said, turning to face him. "We have a big problem. There's no chair. I can't do story time without a chair."

Brendon bit his lip and widened his eyes, then turned around and peered into the darkness. "Hey, guys? Are there any extra chairs back there?"

There was some loud bumping and thumping – Brendon and Ryan both made elaborate pained faces – and then a stagehand walked out carrying a fuzzy leopard print shoe-chair.

"This okay, boss?" he asked. "There's a couch, but, uh, it smells kinda funny."

"This is great, dude, thank you," Brendon said, and sat down, wiggling over a little and patting the seat when Ryan frowned at him. "Come on, you'll fit."

The stagehand disappeared into the wings, and Ryan lowered himself onto the chair carefully. Brendon promptly tried to cuddle, which almost sent Ryan flying into the front row. Ryan squawked and clutched at his hat, and then they spent a few minutes fussing around getting settled. It finally ended with Brendon sitting in the middle of the chair and Ryan perched on his knee. Brendon leaned around Ryan and waggled his eyebrows at the audience; Ryan cleared his throat pointedly and opened his book.

"This is a story about a pair of rabbits," he read, turning the book around to show the audience a picture of two rabbits, one brown and one grey. "One of them was called Ryro. He liked to sleep on windowsills, and sometime he fell off."

The audience gasped, and Spencer stood up to get a better view at the stage. Brendon had leaned back against the chair and had his eyes half closed, but Spencer could tell he was still totally awake and focused on the audience. He was smiling faintly, as if he knew he'd done well.

"But that's okay, because he had friends who would save him, so he never got hurt, or had to stay out in the rain," Ryan continued. "One of his friends was a Christmas tree and the other one was a bird."

Ryan turned the book around again and showed picture of a fir tree covered in ornaments and a big snowy owl. There was some more muffled thumping back stage, and then Tennessee walked out again, trailing a line of people behind her, all carrying throw pillows. Brendon sat up a little bit, and Spencer could see real surprise on his face. Ryan also looked kind of stunned. Tennessee dropped her pillow near Brendon's feet, and folded herself down gracefully; the others followed her with varying levels of success. 

"The other rabbit, who was called Bden, was an artist, and he painted pictures for calendars," Ryan continued, once they were settled, then turned the book again, this time to show a picture of the grey rabbit wearing a beret and holding a paintbrush. 

"Then one day, the Tree found a map," Ryan read. "He showed it to Ryro and Bden and Bird, and when they looked at it, they saw many beautiful places that they wanted to visit. So Bden packed up his paints, and they set off to have amazing adventures."

Brendon leaned back against the chair again, and Spencer permitted himself to close his eyes and let Ryan's voice and the story wash over him. When Ryan closed the book, the audience erupted in applause, and Spencer opened his eyes just in time to see everyone scramble to their feet and take their final bow.

"That's it for today, everybody," Brendon said, after the other disappeared into the wings. "But you can come back and join us tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel. Because we're always up way too late!"

Thirty seconds later, Spencer's phone started buzzing. He saw Pete's number and took a moment to brace himself before reading the messages.

_Target audience loved it_ , read the first one. _Pitching networks now,_ said the second. _Victory waffles for dinner today?_ said the third. Spencer texted back their acceptance of that offer and went to tell Brendon the good news.

_A Year Later_

"I think - " Brendon paused, studied the inside of the fridge, and finally pulled out a cup of yogurt. "I think I'm ready to finish that bar stool."

Spencer flipped over some sausage patties and considered that information. Brendon snagged a spoon and sat down at the table next to Ryan and his sewing project. Spencer felt a little dizzy all of a sudden, and didn't quite know why.

"I thought I'd go with an Batman theme this time," Brendon continued, peeling back the foil cover of his yogurt.

"Touch my comic books and I will end you," Spencer said absentmindedly.

"Also, Pete called while you were at the store," Brendon said. "The CW wants to sign me. Us. For twelve episodes."

Ryan made a noise that was somewhere between surprise and pain, which probably meant he had just stabbed himself with a needle. Spencer turned and gave Brendon a narrow look. 

"I'm serious," Brendon said, grinning broadly. "He said he was going to email you the contract. Also, you know what that means."

Spencer stared at him, still too stunned to make sense of what he was saying. Then Ryan started humming the theme to Swan Lake, and Brendon's grin got even broader.

"I have to wear a tutu on national television," Spencer said, but he couldn't quite make himself sound angry.

"I had to wear ball gown when we got moved to the big studio," Ryan cut in. "And I had to _waltz_."

"Yes, and you and Z were a smash hit," Brendon said. "I'm still getting email from people begging for a reprise and asking for the name of her tailor. It’s a big fluffy tutu, Spencer, not a short one."

"All right," Spencer said, and he had never been so happy to lose a bet.


End file.
